


a few stolen hours

by Pontmercyingtilthecowscomehome



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Heavy Angst, Mentioned injuries, No age gap, One Shot, POV Cassian Andor, Pining, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Romance, leia is aged up to be the same age as cassian, mentioned chronic pain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-29
Updated: 2020-02-29
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:08:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22947562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pontmercyingtilthecowscomehome/pseuds/Pontmercyingtilthecowscomehome
Summary: Cassian fights for everything he has, including the few hours he is able to spend with Leia.
Relationships: Cassian Andor/Leia Organa
Comments: 2
Kudos: 5





	a few stolen hours

**Author's Note:**

> This assumes that Leia and Cassian are the same age, so Leia is older than in canon.

Every time Cassian pushes himself past the brink of exhaustion, he thinks that this time, this one, this moment of unimaginable weariness, this will be his end. This is all he can take, all he can do. He thinks, in that moment, of how sweet the oblivion of collapsing might be, of how, maybe, if he stops moving, he will stop hurting, stop aching, stop all the pains he cannot even begin to name.

Every time he pushes, he finds a new level of exhaustion, a deeper well of pain, then, somehow, finds the strength to keep going.

He gets himself into the U-Wing, just barely. He puts Kaytu in charge of piloting, while he hastily wraps his wounds as best he can, slapping bacta pads on the worst of them and ignoring the bruising on his ribs.

They’ve been broken before. He has no doubt they’ll break again.

* * *

He leans against the doorway, taking one staggering breath, then another. The waiting is agony, but the small hope he has, the tiniest bit of light in the darkness, is that he is here. He managed to return here. To return to a place that isn’t home, no, but it is safe.

Bail told him once that he hoped Cassian would someday find his home here, among the pillars and the stained glass, the gardens and the ballrooms.

He doesn’t think he ever will.

After all, he’s had a home before. He has no doubt he’ll lose his home again.

* * *

The light at the end of the hall flickers on and a figure dressed in pale blue, like a cresting wave, darts out of her room. Her bare feet are light on the marble floor as she hurries toward him. The loose-cut trousers flare around her ankles, fluttering as much as her silken tunic, devoid of any beadwork save some embroidery around her bell-shaped sleeves. The pattern made by that silver thread is of a thousand petals, melting into feathery shapes like a starbird’s wings.

Cassian knows that because he is the one who placed each stitch, tied each knotted thread as he healed and she befriended him.

Leia rushes toward him. There’s a simple sort of beauty in her actions, the way a field of wildflowers are beautiful in their uncurated blossoming. He’s seen her in courtly regalia, in combat fatigues, in a thousand different outfits, each meant for a different purpose, but seeing her in the clothes she chooses to wear when she is alone, when there is no role for her to play, he thinks, is the most beautiful sight of all.

Cassian has seen beautiful things, awe-inspiring things, joyous things throughout all of his missions. He has no doubt that every one of those wonders fade to dust in comparison to Leia.

* * *

The joy in her stride falters when she can see just how wounded he is. Her brown eyes widen, making her seem younger than she is. For the two of them being nearly the same age, the two decades they have both lived have been in dramatically different environments. His has aged him, worn him down to dust, whereas Leia’s has protected her, polished her like a finely cut gem.

“Cass--” Leia cuts herself off. She’s not supposed to use his real name any more than he is supposed to be here. Instead, she reaches up, carefully, to cup his cheek, choosing the side of his face that doesn’t have a black eye. “You look terrible.”

“You don’t,” he replies simply.

She smiles. That, he thinks, is worth returning for.

“Come on,” Leia turns, catching his hand in the same motion. “You can rest in my room tonight. I’ll get the first aid kit. Then--”

“Your… room…” he stutters. The part of him that isn’t a battle-weary spy, that is just a young man in love takes over his brain. He blushes. “We… Leia. I... “ A thousand different protests rise within him, and yet, he can voice none of them.

Her lips form an O, her own blush appearing high on her cheeks. Clearly, she hadn't’ thought of what she implied. “No, no, not like that. I’ll sleep on the chaise lounge. You can report to the council tomorrow.”

“What’s a chaise?” he asks, tiredly, following her because he would follow her anywhere. “Sounds fancy.” Everything said in this hallway, with ancient stone pillars and statues with gemstone eyes watching them as they have watched countless others, and will for ages more, seems fancy. Too fancy for him, perhaps. He is a spy, a rebel, and at times, even a thief.

Like in this moment, stealing time to be here, with her, instead of on his way to his next mission.

Everything good in his life, Cassian thinks, is stolen. His time here, his ship, even Kaytu, stolen from the Empire's clutches. What he has, he doesn't think he should. It's luck that has brought him these things, these stolen joys, and what scares him the most is knowing that luck always runs out.

“Pfft,” Leia shakes her head. “It’s just a chair.”

“Should have called it that, then,” he replies just as she opens her door. He likes teasing her, likes to see the fire in her eyes. And in this moment, he leans down to kiss her pouting lips, because he likes those too. Her lips are warm against his, a warmth unlike anything else he knows. Carefully, he rests a hand on the small of her back, and lets out a sigh of relief when she takes it as a clue to clutch him, her hands coming up to his tattered jacket collar and holding him against her. Leia isn't afraid to reach out, to grasp the good things in life.

What she has, from her outfits to his affection, she has been given freely. She will never need to steal. She is a rebel, he knows, but she is a princess as well, and that title will always come before any other she may wear.

Leia leans into the kiss, her eyes fluttering closed. Cassian keeps his open. He knows all too well that the shadows can come when one isn’t watching. The kiss remains chaste between them, a simple, gentle expression of all the love they’ve only started to express.

Cassian has been in love before. He’s not sure he ever will be again.

* * *

“Right, now I’ve drawn you a bath,” Leia says, bustling around her sitting room while he leans on the chair. Or chaise lounge. Whatever it was. “You go have a soak and I’ll get some bacta ready for you."

"Since when do you have bacta patches on hand?"

  
"Since I had to go on a dinner date with a terrible medic for the Empire," Leia shudders. "Stealing his kit was the only good part of that mission."

Cassian is embarrassed and yet, relieved to be wrong. He has forgotten there is more to Leia than even what meets his eye. She is a rebel, a princess, but also, a damn good spy. And, it sounds like, a thief, as well.

She snaps her fingers. "Oh. And dinner. I’ll get that too.”

“You cooking?”

She shakes her head, a lock of chestnut hair slipping out of the high bun she wears.

He reaches up to twist the strand back into place, his touch lingering on her shoulder. “Good,” he says, smiling at her, “then I’ll survive til morning.”

She puts her hands on her hips. “I can cook!”

“Mm,” he replies, keeping his lips closed.

“Can too!”

“Never said you couldn’t.”

“Ah! You… you are impossible.” Leia stomps past him, pushing the door pad for a room he’s never been in before.

No, he thinks, this moment is impossible. Sharing this night, this little wonder of a slice of time together. Pretending there is no war, no danger, nothing to keep them from simply being the two young people in love that they wish they could be, if only times were different.

When Cassian walks through the doorway, he understands why he’s never been in this room before. It’s a ‘fresher, but one only in name. The walls are covered in gilded and intricately cut stone, the floor is a plush rug that tickles his bare feet. There’s enough gems and precious metals in the decor here to buy a whole new X-Wing.

Strangest of all is that there’s no ‘fresher spout, but rather a large basin, full of bubbly pink water.

“What…” Cassian trails off.

“It’s a soak ‘fresher. Surely you’ve seen one before,” Leia retorts as she reaches up on her tiptoes for a towel on a high shelf. Her personality is so large, it's easy to forget how petite she is. Cassian leans over her to grab it. She glares up at him, but only for a moment, before she presses a kiss to his stubbly cheek.

“I have not.” Warm water wasn’t exactly in large supply on his icy home planet.

“Well, there’s a first time for everything. It’s scented and full of bacta capsules. They’ll dissolve against your skin. It should feel wonderful.”

Everything in this small set of rooms feels wonderful to Cassian, but he knows better than to say it. That would only make her feel guilty, only remind them both of the chasm that lies between them.

“I’ll leave you to it,” Leia says, but lingers a moment longer. Cassian pulls her into an embrace, overcome with some emotion he refuses to name. Just like his prior thought, to say the word, to even think it, feels traitorous. He should only love the cause, he knows, and nothing else.

“Thank you,” he manages to say, which is almost the same as what he wishes he could say. He holds her a moment longer, before finally releasing her.

She slips away and only then does he disrobe, before lowering his aching body into the warm water. It feels warm, gently against his bruises, and so soothing that a small sigh, or maybe even a sob, escapes him.

It has been a long time since he has felt so warm. Cassian doesn’t know when he will again, so he treasures the moment.

Leia had been right. The soak had felt wonderful, but what is even more so is the sight of her curled up on that strange fancy couch, a tray of food next to her. She pats the space, inviting him, as if he would rather be anywhere but at her side.

“Thank you,” he says again.

“No,” Leia smiles at him. “Thank you for coming to me.”

“I couldn’t go anywhere else,” he admits. “Not after how I left last time.”

“You mean in the middle of the night, without a goodbye?” Leia raises a brow.

Cassian drops his gaze. He needs, just once. It had been a coward’s goodbye, the way he had left before. She deserved better than that. Perhaps she deserved better than him. She should have a kind man, one with enough time to devote to her, a nice man who would cherish her.

Not a spy with blood on his hands.

Instead of scolding him, Leia only squeezes his hand. “You have no need of forgiveness. I know your duty called you away, just as my own will surely one night.”

He lifts his head, feeling a weight slide away from his tired shoulders. Leia pulls him closer, settling them in together on the couch. “Eat,” she says, “before the food gets cold.”

The evening passes pleasantly in its plainness. They eat and talk and laugh, enjoying all the simple things that they so rarely have a chance to do, least of all together. By the time they are yawning and Leia is rubbing her eyes, they have somehow migrated over to her bed, together.

They curl closer, as if they need to whisper, as sleep pulls at both of them. They fight the urge, though, both of the desperate to keep the waking joy as long as possible. After all, neither of them are strangers to finding joy in dreams, but this territory, of being completely content when awake, is new to them both.

Cassian is not sure he’s ever been as happy as he is when Leia kisses him good night. He is sure, however, that she will not be able to do so again tomorrow.

The Rebellion will call him, he is sure of that, and he will answer.

* * *

They doze off together, though one wakes with a start, snapping out of a bad dream, which startles the other awake. It doesn’t matter who is the first to wake, only that they are together, holding each other as reality once again takes hold.

A dream can bring joy, Cassian knows, but it also can hold unimaginable heartache.

He kisses Leia then, kisses her because she is real and she is close and he is terrified of losing her as he has lost every other thing he has held close.

Cassian knows that to love is to begin a battle he cannot win, but he knows that Leia is worth the fight.

Leia lets out a small, happy sound as she curls around him, letting his head rest on her shoulder. “Cassian?”

“Yes?”

“You are all I’ve ever wanted.”

“And here I was thinking you wanted galactic peace.” Easier to joke than to admit how much that touched him, to know he is wanted, to know he is enough.

“That too,” she admits with a small giggle.

It’s an innocent sort of intimacy, he thinks, as Leia presses against him, her grip on his waist a little tighter, her breath warm against his skin. Sleeping together, clothed and yet bare of all pretenses. It’s the sort of thing that gives him hope for a future, for a time where they could not only sleep together, but wake together, taking their time on a lazy, peaceful morning.

Instead, he knows he will slip away before dawn, on the next mission. He sighs, the sound as deep as the emptiness of space. “Is it worth it?” he asks.

“What?”

“...this…” he pauses. “Pretending there’s no war. Pretending there’s a chance for us.”

Her entire body goes very still. He feels the change in her breathing, her heart rate. Silently, he berates himself, knowing he has said the wrong thing. The age he waits for her to speak is an eternity, “I,” Leia begins, firmly, “am not pretending.”

“Leia,” he turns, shifting to face her, despite the pressure it puts on his injuries. “We have to be practical. There’s a war. There’s…” a thousand barriers between them that he cannot, will not name.

She doesn’t answer. Not with words. Instead, she kisses him. Kisses him with all her fire, all her stubbornness, all of the things he loves about her. Leia is wild and bold, brilliant and witty, as forceful as a planet’s collision and as gentle as a sweet spring rain. Her smile is worth fighting for, her conviction in the Alliance’s cause, he knows, is worth dying for. There is so much more to the princess than meets the eye, so much power that crackles underneath her tiny frame.

Cassian has never met another like Leia. He’s sure he never will.

* * *

The kiss leaves them both breathless. As he catches his, his heart thudding hard against his still-healing ribs, Leia says, “every minute, every second I spend with you, Cassian, is a victory. Of course there is a chance for us. A chance we take every moment we can. There is peace here, between us. A peace we’ve already won.”

His expression goes soft. He understands now, that she is just as practical as he is. That she doesn’t speak of an impossible future, but rather the bittersweet perfection of this very moment. Gently, he kisses her forehead. “I see.”

“And we’ll win that peace for everyone, too.” She holds him a little tighter. “Someday. For right now, isn’t this enough? Can’t we just be happy in this little moment?”

Part of him wants to tell her that temporary happiness will only leave to perpetual heartbreak.

Part of him wants to believe her.

It’s that part which wins out, as it always does. When his own conviction falters, he has found he can always lean on Leia’s. Her beliefs are as strong as durasteel. Cassian wraps the blanket tighter around them both. “I think we can manage that,” he says, offering her a shy, tender smile.

She returns that smile, all her fire now banked, tucked away for the next time she needs it. Instead, she is the gentle warmth of a home-hearth on Fest, the light of a candle in the darkness, the star coordinates he can return to, again and again. “I love you,” he admits. The three words feel as vulnerable as bare skin, as dangerous as a blaster aimed at his heart.

Leia kisses him in response. Her own repetition of those words lost in the crash of lips, swallowed up by their passion, by touches that say everything else they cannot.

“I love you,” he says once more, as she falls asleep.

He’s never said it before. He’s not sure he ever will again.

* * *

Later, when he knows that he has rested long enough, the few stolen hours barely enough to heal any part of him, except for his heart, Cassian stirs.

It’s enough to wake her, though he wishes it isn’t. She blinks as she awakens, her hair a mess and her expression so soft it nearly breaks his heart.

It’s the sort of moment he feels he doesn’t deserve, the way he didn’t deserve the luxury of that bath. Moments like this are meant for lovers in peacetime, not spies in the middle of a war. Moments like this, for people like them, are always stolen.

“Where are you headed next?” she asks softly, nearly as silent as her heartbeat. “I’m sorry. I know I shouldn’t ask.”

“Toward Corellia,” he admits, though he knows he shouldn’t. Another long moment passes between them, as he thinks of all he’ll have to prepare, how hard he’ll have to fight once that mission begins.

“There will come a day,” she promises him, her hand soothing as she strokes his forehead.

He repeats the words back to her, the same phrase they have shared a thousand times. “When all this is worth it.”

He has believed that to be true before. He finds he believes it again, now, as he says it to Leia.

It will all be worth it some day. Every fight. Every broken bone that never heals, every crime committed, every tear they have shed, will be worth it in the end, when a new, peaceful dawn arrives. The work they do in the shadows and the darkness is the work that must be done for the sake of the light.

Cassian has believed that before. He believes it again, more so than ever, as Leia kisses him goodbye.

* * *

Cassian has left Alderaan before. Each time, leaving too soon, never staying long enough. Each time, he tells himself that it will get easier to leave.

It never does.

Cassian has left Alderaan before. Left its luxurious palace full of priceless art, its peaceful comforts that heal him, its beautiful princess who waits for him. As he punches in the coordinates to the Ring of Kafrene, he promises himself that one day, he will return.

Cassian never does.


End file.
